These days are desperate times.
Persephone wandered too deep into the woods
And the earth has produced only miscarriages in the second trimester.
I’m full-grown curled up in the womb and it’s lost it’s warm.
I’m a child curled up in the womb and the walls are worn.

I swim at the junction of Acheron and Cocytus
Desperately trying to reach the shore,
But the currents far too strong.
Growing furious, I spot my family paying the fare
To board the ferry from Long Island to Connecticut.

I am torn asunder and the pieces dissolved
Into the cold morning air like evaporating dew.
My eyes fall upon a bright red bird, flying in a gyre,
Singing praises to it’s open wings, above a pyre.
The wood burns, carbonizing the soil to start the cycle